


Promises

by Tails89



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood Loss, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whumptober, always happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27324730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tails89/pseuds/Tails89
Summary: Whumptober Prompt 10: They look so pretty when they bleed | Blood loss
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Promises

With the hunters distracted, Stiles darts into the house. Derek’s been missing for three days and this house is the first real lead they’ve had. 

There’s no sign of him in any of the bedrooms, but Stiles had seen a blacked-out basement window on his way around the house. He just needs to find the door.

Listening out for the return of the SUVs, Stiles checks the kitchen and finds the basement door beside the pantry.

It takes him several precious minutes to pick the lock and duck inside. The door opens on a small concrete landing with several steps down to the floor.

And, at the bottom of the stairs—Derek.

“Oh.” The word is little more than a rush of air.

Stiles shuts and locks the door behind him carefully, buying them a few more minutes in case the hunters return.

He takes the stairs, feet tripping down two at a time and skids to a stop just shy of the mountain ash barrier.

Inside the circle, Derek hangs from the ceiling. His arms are tied high above his head and he dangles, feet just barely brushing the ground.

“Derek.” Stiles swipes his hands through the air, blowing a gap through the ash. He wraps his arms around Derek’s waist, trying to lift him up and ease the tension on his arms but Derek is a dead weight. Both shoulders look odd – unnatural - probably dislocated from Derek’s weight pulling him down.

“Wake up.”

Derek stirs with a low breath. As the pressure eases off his shoulders and chest he’s able to draw a full breath. Stiles can’t hold him for long though, his grip on Derek slipping in the blood and sweat that coats Derek’s skin.

“I need to find a knife,” Stiles says, adjusting his grip. “I need to let go. Can you stand? Just for a second.”

He eases Derek down until the werewolf is balancing on tip toes.

There are plenty of knives to choose from. The hunters have left all manner of torture implements sitting in full view on the bench. Stiles shallows down the bile that rises in his throat and snatches up the cleanest looking knife, before racing back to Derek.

It’s a bit of a stretch to reach the rope. Stiles saws through it as quickly as he can, careful not to cut Derek.

The rope snaps and Derek drops like a sack of potatoes, crumpling forward and pulling them both down. Stiles manages roll them both over and break Derek’s fall. It knocks the air right from Stiles’s lungs.

The rough landing has reopens some of the cuts across Derek’s front. The worst of them slices across his abdomen, deep and bloody. The edges are pink and shiny with newly healed skin that has been reopened again and again.

Blood flows freely from the wound, dripping down across Derek’s hip to splash onto the ground.

“It’s time to wake up now,” Stiles tells him. “I can’t carry you, so if you want to get out of here you’re going to have to walk.” He uses Derek’s shirt from the pile of discarded clothing under the table, holding it against Derek’s skin to stem the bleeding.

“Stiles?”

“Hey big guy.”

“’s that you?”

“’fraid so.” Stiles says, checking over the other cuts and bruises and burns that litter Derek’s chest and legs. The shirt under his hands is already soaked through. Stiles lifts it to peak at the wound.

“You’re not healing.”

“Can’t.” Derek’s voice is breathy and weak. “Wolfsbane.”

“Okay.” Stiles lets out a long breath. “Okay. We can work with this.” He stands up and goes to the table to find the duct tape and bits of rag he’d seen earlier. The rags look clean enough.

“Okay.” Stiles lets out a long breath. “Okay. We can work with this.” He stands up and goes to the table, searching among the horror contents.

Before he returns, Stiles grabs Derek’s jeans from under the table. He doesn’t bother with the discarded boots.

“Alright.” Stiles drops his bundle on the floor beside Derek. “Here’s the plan; the pack is off creating a distraction-" He starts taping up the worst of the cuts. “-and we've probably only got a few more minutes before someone returns to check on you. So-" Stiles wipes his hands clean on his shirt. “Let’s get you dressed and then we can blow this joint.”

He helps Derek pull on his jeans, his fingers brushing against cool clammy skin. Stiles wonders how many times the hunters had cut Derek open, bled him out and then let him heal. How many times they’d repeated the process over and over.

Stiles does most of the work getting him to his feet. Derek is too shaky and weak from blood loss.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Derek nods. “Dizzy but—I’ll manage.”

They approach the stairs slowly. There are five of them up to the basement door, then it’s flat all the way to the back to Stiles’s car.

Stiles readjusts his grip around Derek’s waist and takes the first step. By the time they reach the top he’s panting from the effort of keeping Derek upright.

Unlocking the door presents new challenges with Stiles’s hands full, but once they’re in the kitchen it’s a shoot through the hall to the front door.

The hallway is empty as Stiles half carries, half drags Derek towards the backdoor. He almost drops Derek while he’s struggling with the door handle but manages to heft him back up onto his shoulder.

“Can we stop...for a second?”

“We're almost there. Then you can rest.” Stiles kicks the front door open with his foot.

“I just- I just need-" Derek sags suddenly, almost sending them both tumbling out the door.

Stiles only just manages to lower them both to the grass.

“Fuck.”

*

When Derek wakes, he’s lying down. For a moment he doesn’t know where his is. He’d been hanging, his arms straining, but now he’s lying comfortable and warm on a soft bed.

Opening his eyes, Derek realises he’s in his bedroom.

He stretches, carefully testing out his body. There is an ache in his abdomen but it is nothing like the fire that consumed him earlier. His limbs are heavy with the usual exhaustion that comes with long healing session.

Rolling over, Derek wraps his arms around the figure in the bed beside him.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles voice is rough with sleep.

“A bit sore.”

“I’m not surprised. You lost so much blood.” Stiles twists to look at Derek. “You are never allowed to scare us like that again.”

“Us?”

“Me.”

Derek pulls him in close so that Stiles's back is flush with his chest and hooks his chin over Stiles's shoulder.

“Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Posting the few whumptober fics I ended up writing before getting distracted by sterek week. Please leave kudos or comment if you enjoyed.


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